Porn Can Fuck up Sex
Porno is a nono fo' mojo fo' sho sho
Naturally, there are some differences between having The Sex © and watching porn.
The nervy thrill of getting to know someone VS scanning for that standout GIF in an unending* mosaic of occupied orifices. The cellular connection of love made right VS half-watching two+ haggard Californians fuck to keep the lights on. The shuddering euphoria of coming with someone you love VS the hollow satisfaction of timing up with a proxy cum shot.
One makes us feel great, one makes us feel all the earthly shame of a god never confided in, but that’s not really the point. For me and, anecdotally, a few people I know, watching porn has a detrimental effect on good old-fashioned, lovely person-2-person sex.
When I’ve recently consumed porno, my brain starts treating IRL sex with the same detachment it processes some grubby little clip. As if I’m watching a pretty convincing POV scene play out from a distance. I have to bunch up a handful of hair or latch onto a buttcheek to try and remind my nervous system this isn’t a dry run. Get your head in the game, we’re making nearly-babies here.
These attempts to jog myself back into the moment don’t always work and I’m not fully present. The old ‘nography makes real sex feel less real and less interesting.
At the risk of sounding like a crooked TV evangelist preaching on the corruptive force of bare nipples - porn isn’t natural. The human brain wasn’t wired for the multimedia mammary extravaganza that is life today. I shouldn’t be able to look straight into the butthole of a woman whose eyes would make me lose balance in real life - especially on the bus home.
Maybe, just maybe, there should be more than just a few clicks, between a gullible boner and all human beauty sexing through every fantasy ever sexed.
The effect could be something to do with the way I digest porn; forever moving on to the next clip like some drowsy tyrant cycling through his hareem. I’ve seen enough. Next! A situation that would end prematurely with another living thing, loses traction after a few strides. Next! How quickly a brain bores of a kink most couples would only resort to after decades of marriage. Next! Skip unthinkingly through anything other than my favourite position, where I drip with sexual competence. Wait, her enthusiasm has waned from the top percentile - flick to a backup tab. Next!
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I even have a particularly unhealthy relationship with porn. I’m not some uncrowned fap-king with a Brazzers subscription and a wicked case of tosser’s hunch. Gone are the shameful days of recognising familiar faeces, as the smut aggregators have not restocked the category since this afternoon’s visit. My 11-5 trouncing of Owen Johns in our inaugural 24-hour tug-off, little more than a faint, cherished memory.
In all, possibly, too much, honesty, I need to see the glow of affection reciprocated in another’s eyes to, you know, wack myself senseless. So I can only really stomach amateur porn these days. I steer clear of that twisted realm where teens rebrand as milfs on the eve of their 23rd birthday. My soppy fetish is only relevant because you might assume porn-porn’s distorted take on sex is the issue. But, even a single exposure to relatively wholesome, probable revenge, porn interferes with my mojo.
Porn is now more of a guilty pleasure, but, as it affects my sex life, the guilt long outlasts the pleasure. I’ve really done my best to make a concerted effort to try and cut down on the stuff almost entirely. But, as that parade of qualifiers suggests, I’m not quite there yet. If I’m tired, bored, tipsy, and away from my girlfriend, the laptop opens itself up.
When I do relapse of a lonesome Thursday evening, neither my dick, nor its faithful errand boy, the brain, can quite believe their luck. For those triumphant few minutes my mind and body are completely taken in by the experience. Whatever's going on upstairs and downstairs that instantly regrettable event throws my mojo out of whack. Plus, in the next inevitable instalment of that relapse, I can always see those moving images for what they are.
I find it way healthier to scrunch up my eyes and turn my attention on some frayed memory or recent, unsuspecting passerby. I know a lot of people scroll ‘n’ jerk without issue but, for some of us, porn can really fuck up sex.
Obviously, I’m not going to tell you how to masturbate, but what I would do if I were you masturbating is have a little rummage through your imagination for once. Join me for #PORNFREE2023.
* That said, I reached the 856th and then-last page of HomeMoviesTube.com - to little or no fanfare.
I love this. The real deal is waaaay more fun (and unpredictable) than the 2D version.
Looking straight into the butt hole of a woman whose eyes would make me lose balance. This image will remain engraved in my hippocampus for my remaining years. No amount of whiteout can ever wipe it out. Why? Why did you do this? On the other hand ... it's an interesting image.